


The Tides that Bind Us

by xStephyG



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Original Fiction, Pirates, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xStephyG/pseuds/xStephyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evie Trevelyan is a well-educated woman of exceptional breeding and striking beauty. The sole child of a wealthy merchant, the only expectation her father has ever had for her was to marry well. With not but thoughts of pleasing her father, Evie boards a ship that will carry her to Kingston. However, before she can reach her destination her ship is ambushed. Soon Evie finds herself at the mercy of Captain Cullen Rutherford and his crew of misfits and scoundrels. With no other option, she is thrust into a world she has little hope of surviving without learning to adapt to a new way of thinking.<br/>There are many names synonymous with New Providence Island and the town of Nassau but chief among them is Cullen Rutherford. Captain of the infamous Templar's Revenge, Cullen has devoted his life to sailing under the black. He has spent three years consumed by a need to find justice for those who cannot find it for themselves and hopefully make a bit of coin along the way. When out patrolling for a prize, he happens upon a merchant ship that is carrying more than just cargo. Cullen's life is changed forever when Miss Evie Trevelyan boards his ship.<br/>Whether these changes are for the best is something only the tides will tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

_ _

 Banner portraits by lizmapes on Tumblr

* * *

 

It was a clear day that saw Evie Trevelyan standing at the railing upon the main deck of the Seahorse. Her astute emerald eyes watched the crashing waves, the water shimmering like diamonds before her. A fine smile graced her soft pink lips as she thought of how the brigantine floated over the clear water with such ease; feeling as though the ship could be flying just as easily as it could be sailing. Over her head of long scarlet curls, the wind filled the pristine white sails of the main mast. The taut fabric cast a large shadow over the deck, shielding the young noblewoman's delicate skin from the scorching Caribbean sun. A light breeze from the ship’s forward momentum filled her freckled nose with the salty scent of the sea, while lightly stirring the fabric of her dull grey dress.

When Evie had first set foot on the deck of the brigantine in the Port of London, it had been as if she were entering another world. The aging planks beneath her feet may have been solid but they still felt as though they were lurching with the water. It had been disorienting and nauseating; she spent most of the first two weeks of the voyage hidden in her private cabin. She would listen to the waves slamming against the side of the ship while praying for a reprieve from the churning in her stomach.

When she did venture above deck, she would trip and stumble over the rigging as well as her own slipper-adorned feet. Her legs felt as though they would collapse from under her. The swaying of the ship had her clinging to the railings and offered arms of the sailors, believing without the anchorage she would surely tumble over the side.

Now, only two months later, the contents of her stomach no longer rolled with the waves. Evie could walk the deck with the same ease as a seasoned sailor. Her feet were sure and confident below her, allowing her to keep her nose between the pages of her books as she skipped over the rigging. The need to grasp at the railings and sailors was gone (though the men on deck still rushed to offer her a hand any time she appeared).

Evie felt almost at home on a ship now; a part of her never wanted the voyage to end.

“Beautiful weather, is it not?” Evie adjusted her already pristine posture - raising chin and rolling her shoulders back - as a familiar voice rang out. Turning her head to the right, she offered Sir Arthur Trevelyan a polite smile and genial curtsy while watching him descend the six steps connecting the quarterdeck to the main deck. “A strong tailwind. We will reach Kingston within a fortnight if this keeps up.”

“Two whole weeks of perfect weather, father?” Evie tittered, returning her sight to the rolling waves as Arthur settled beside her. “I hadn't the slightest idea you were a dreamer.” The teasing words slipped out before she could stifle them. Her smiled faltered in an instant while every muscle in her body tensed. She didn't have to turn her head to see the stern expression on her father's face; it was a sight she had seen as often as the sea over the course of their voyage.

“I do hope you will not speak that way to your future husband.” Arthur snapped.

Chancing a glance toward him, Evie could see the hard set of his jaw and cold dissidence in his emerald eyes as he glowered at the horizon. She quickly lowered her own gaze to the railing, both in shame and by way of apology. “No, father. Of course not.” She murmured, shaking her head. The movement caused the tail of scarlet tresses to sweep her neck and a selection of loose curls from her orderly style to tumble down onto her forehead.

“Do speak up, Evelyn. A proper lady does not _mumble_. Maker, what did your governess teach you?” Evie shrank further into herself as she listened to her father's belittling and contradictory rant. “If I had known you were receiving such a poor education I would have returned to London to find you proper tutors myself.”

The hot sting of mounting tears filled Evie's eyes then. She wrapped her arms around herself, holding her sides as if she could tamp down the tears with her own embrace.

When Arthur had returned to London on the first day of May, only a week before her twenty-first birthday, Evie had been overjoyed. She had had little contact with her father over the past eleven years. Only a monthly letter sent since she was ten years old after her mother passed away and Arthur left to grow his mercantile business in the West Indies.

The sight of him standing on the quarterdeck of the Seahorse as the ship pulled into the Port of London, black hair neatly coiffed, the emerald eyes they shared observing the gathered crowd had been so exciting. She couldn't wait to spend time with her father, get to know the man behind the stoic letters. She had never expected to be greeted with the same cold stare that he seemed to regard everyone with. Or the unfamiliar and gentlemanly kiss on her hand by way of greeting that disappointed her. The curt responses to her polite questions that had broken her heart. And the snapped admonishments at her playful jesting that had brought her to tears.

Evie breathed slowly in an attempt to calm herself: inhaling through her reddening nose to welcome the invigorating sea air and exhaling through her mouth to banish the melancholy threatening to take her. She kept reminding herself that her father loved and cared for her; though he may not show it in the ways she imagined he would. They were family, after all. And that is what family does: love unconditionally.

Affixing a smile to her lips, Evie lifted her chin and lowered her hands to the railing. Even though her eyes were still brimming with unshed tears, she turned them to her father's face. Arthur continued to scowl into the distance, showing the same disinterest he always did when in Evie's presence. Forcing her smile to grow brighter, Evie prepared herself to offer an apology for her insolence; she only wanted to keep the peace between herself and Arthur.

“Sails!” The word filtered down from high up on the main mast, pulling the attention of everyone on deck, Evie's and Arthur's included. The pair turned from the railing to peer at the lookout, finding him pointing to the aft of the Seahorse.

“Maker's mercy.” Arthur grumbled. “Again?”

They had seen many other ships over the past two months. The first time the call went out, Evie had been alarmed, assuming the worst. When it was revealed to be another merchant vessel, she felt like a fool. That did not stop her from panicking the second, third, or sixth time sails could be seen on the horizon. Each time a ship was sighted the same thought jolted to the forefront her of her mind. But each time it was revealed to be a fellow merchant vessel or a patrol from the Royal Navy and Evie was left blushing under the weight of her own private fears.

“Perhaps it's another patrol?” Evie chirped cheerfully.

“Yes, of course it is.” Arthur snapped, leveling Evie with an annoyed glare. “Or another blasted merchant. Which is why another delay is unnecessary.” With an exasperated huff, Arthur turned back to the steps leading to the quarterdeck

Of all the things Evie had discovered about her father since they were reunited, the most pertinent in that moment was that he was most definitely not a sailor. He could not read a navigational chart, determine the ship’s heading, or rig a sail. He certainly had no business dictating when a delay was necessary or not. However, as Arthur stomped up the creaking stairs to relay his objections to the captain, she held her own protests in. Arthur made it abundantly clear her role was to be seen and not heard; she did not need nor want another reminder of this.

Yet, Evie still found herself trailing after her father. She didn't know what force propelled her forward, perhaps it was the hope of seeing her father put in his place. But the more likely answer was simple comfort. She had only learned the origins of the other spotted ships second hand before, this was a chance to be assured of everyone's safety directly from the captain himself.

As the pair approached the captain and quartermaster engaged in a quiet discussion, Evie noticed Quartermaster Nixon's nervous demeanour right away. She had only spoken to the man on occasion but he had never struck her as the type to worry for not. However, his pallor told her more than words ever could.

“What is it this time, Captain Mercer?” Arthur demanded once he was standing with the two men. Evie kept a respectful distance from the three men but remained close enough to listen in. “Another patrol?” The question was met with silence and Evie could see her father's jaw set. “A merchant then?” He snapped. More silence.

The tension in the air was palpable as the captain and quartermaster turned to face Arthur. The two men looked to their employer with grim expressions on their tanned faces. Captain Mercer's gaze flashed to Evie for a moment, their eyes meeting just long enough for her to see a note of sympathy there, before he returned his focus to Arthur.

“What colours is the ship flying?” Arthur asked, his voice pitched with apprehension. It would seem he was starting to understand what Evie already knew: there was trouble.

“None, sir.”

That one simple word sent Evie's whole world spinning on its axis. Her knees weakened under the weight of her mounting fear, forcing her to take hold of the railing beside her. A tightness settled around her chest, constricting her breathing more than any corset ever could. Her racing blood roared in her ears, muffling the conversation happening around her.

“Pirates.” Arthur gasped, giving voice to Evie's own fear.

“We don't know that for certain, sir.” Captain Mercer pointed out quickly. “Until we know who is on that ship, there is no need for panic.”

“I am not-”

“But your daughter is, sir.”

All eyes turned to Evie then. Her own frightened gaze darted wildly between the three men, pleading for them to tell her this was all a dream or perhaps a cruel trick. But the assurance she desperately needed never came.

Instead, Arthur moved to Evie's side faster than she had ever seen him move. Much to her surprise, he wrapped his arm around her waist and tucked her into his embrace. His cradling arms and hunched posture could almost be considered protective. Evie relaxed into his side, resting her head against his chest to find his heart racing just as fast as her own.

“Do you have a plan, captain?” Arthur demanded as Evie clutched to his side.

Captain Mercer nodded quickly. “We maintain course but increase our speed. I will order the riggers to let out the topgallants immediately. If this ship has hostile intentions, they will do the same. If this should occur, we will change course at once. The Seahorse can out manoeuvre any ship in the West Indies. We will lose them, sir. You have my word.” When Captain Mercer finished speaking, he lowered his gaze to meet Evie's once more. She offered him a queasy smile as he regarded her with the same expression of sympathy as before.

“I will take Evelyn back to her cabin.” Arthur announced, tightening his grip around Evie's waist. “The very moment the danger has passed, you will come to inform us. Do not leave my daughter in this state longer than is necessary, captain.”

Captain Mercer and Quartermaster Nixon both bowed to the father and daughter respectfully before Evie was steered rapidly away from them. She gripped her father's tailored waistcoat tightly in her trembling hands as they walked in tandem down the steps back onto the main deck.

Evie felt as though she was floating as they walked. She barely took notice of her surroundings until Arthur dislodged her from his side to be seated on the bed in her cabin. She stared up at her father pleadingly once she was sitting, silently beseeching him not to leave her alone.

Arthur regarded her for a moment, his face as unreadable as always, before nodding curtly. “You will be safe here. Do not leave this cabin until the danger has passed.” He turned to leave then and Evie felt the panic rise in her anew. She didn't want to be alone, not now. So many things could happen in the next few hours, she couldn't stand the thought of facing them on her own.

As Arthur lifted his hand to reach for the latch, Evie grasped his sleeve. “Please, father.” Her voice was timid, even to her own ears with a slight quiver. “I don't... Please, stay.”

Reaching his free hand over, Arthur took hold of Evie's dainty wrist and dislodged his jacket sleeve from her tight grip. She was certain he would make his exit then. She held her breath, trying to keep her tears at bay as he smoothed the creases from his jacket. She could wait a moment longer before finally allowing her tears to fall once she was alone.

However, to her great surprise, rather than pulling the latch open, Arthur pushed it shut the rest of the way. Evie tracked his movements with wide, astonished eyes as he sat next to her on the feather mattress.

“It will be faster for the captain to deliver the news of our safety once.” Arthur stated to the wall across from them. He cupped Evie's delicate hand between his, giving the top of hers a gentle pat. “We will wait together.”

* * *

 

The time passed in relative silence. Arthur had stood after only a few moments to Evie's disappointment and began pacing the tiny swath of floor beside the bed, his perfectly polished shoes filling the cabin with the rhythm of his steady steps. The increased speed from the topgallants being let loose had the hull cutting through the sea as if it was never there in the first place. A constant dripping from the water on the deck through a gap in the boards made Arthur scoff at Evie's deplorable sleeping arrangements, promising to have it repaired the very moment they were clear of their current situation.

And Arthur seemed absolutely positive they would be free of it. Any sound from the deck above was met with an explanation; the only problem being they were hollow, ringing with his lack of experience at sea: wry comments about the heavy footedness of sailors and their clumsy nature.

As the first hour gave way to the next, Evie's fears did not ebb in the slightest. Her imagination ran away with itself, conjuring wild scenarios of what would happen if the pirates were to capture them. She knew the stories of the legendary pirates of the West Indies. Of the Storyteller helmed by a dwarven rogue who writes his tales in the blood of his victims. Of the Charging Bull's fearsome qunari captain and crew of blood-thirsty misfits. Of the Siren's Call and the infamous pirate queen ruling over the Caribbean Sea with an iron fist. Of the Highever's deadly reputation and mysterious captain. Of the Templar's Revenge and her mad captain on a quest to destroy British rule. Of the Conductor's vicious crew and ruthless captain. There was no doubt in her mind if any one of these scoundrels or another just like them were to board the Seahorse, her life as she knew it would be over.

Wringing her hands nervously, Evie focused on matching her breathing with the rhythm of Arthur's steady stride. When the commotion on deck was joined by shouting his steps stopped along with her respiration. Everything in the tiny cabin halted as muffled hollering filtered into the room.

“The Seahorse is the fastest ship in my fleet, Evelyn.” Arthur stated firmly. Evie lifted uneasy eyes to her father to find him peering up at the leaky ceiling boards. “They won't be able to get within firing distance, that I am certain of.” Lowering his confident gaze to Evie, he gave her a decisive nod.

As if on cue, the crash of thunder rang through the air before the entire ship shook. Evie was tumbled forward, falling to the cabin floor in a crumpled mess of silk and flailing limbs. A high-pitched shrieking noise met her ears and it wasn't until her cheek was met with a hard slap that she realised it had been coming from her.

“Get a hold of yourself, girl!” Arthur shouted sternly as he grasped her shoulders. Evie gaped at him with widened, tear-filled eyes. No one had ever struck her before. The sting in her cheek was almost as jarring as the barrage of cannon fire. “You will wait here, _silently_ , while I find out what is happening. Do not leave this cabin for any reason.”

Without another word, Arthur released Evie's trembling shoulders from his bruising grip and stood to leave. She stared after him as he moved to the door, only pausing to right his attire and smooth his hair, then finally disappeared behind the heavy oak door.

After a three breath wait, she finally tore her eyes from the door. Burying her face in her hands, she let her tears fall while she waited to find out what in the world was happening only a few feet above her head.


	2. Chapter II

An hour passed by before Evie finally heard the familiar sound of boots on the creaky boards coming toward her cabin. She had lifted herself from the floor moments after her father left, able to hear his admonishing words without his presence needed: _A young lady does not whimper on the floor like a child, Evelyn._

She had spent her time waiting in near silence as Arthur had ordered her, the only sound she made being the occasional sob she could not stifle. But her tears had dried now and she was certain she was about to hear the news of her safety. It was the only outcome she was prepared for.

The door swung open slowly, filling the small cabin with a shrill squeak as the rusted hinges rubbed together. Evie rose from her perch on the feather mattress to properly greet whomever was entering. No amount of fear or panic would ever allow her to forget her manners.

The man that stood in the threshold was not one she recognized, but that was not the cause of her increased worry; the crew of the Seahorse was large, remembering every face and name would take longer than the two months aboard. It wasn't his unknown face that brought fear to her heart, nor was it the blood on his sleeves. It was, in fact, the plethora of weapons strapped to his body that chilled the blood in her veins. No crewman on the Seahorse carried more than a dagger or hatchet on his belt. Yet, the man standing before her wore a flintlock and a dagger on his belt and a sword at his hip.

“Follow me.” The gruff order pulled Evie's gaze back to the man's face. He stared at her with hard eyes, waiting for her to comply. There was only one person on the whole of the ship that would dare command her so abruptly and he would certainly never be caught in soiled shirt.

“M-my father... I wish t-to speak with him.” Evie had wanted to words to come out as an ardent declaration, leaving no room for argument. But a barely whispered request would have to do.

The man's expression shifted then: his dry, cracked lips curling up over blackened teeth and yellowing eyes narrowing. “I gave you an order, girl.” He growled as he stomped into the cabin.

Evie mirrored his movement without hesitation, trying to maintain the distance between them. Her back bumped the bulkhead, trapping her between the devil and deep sea. “W-what's happening?” The question itself was meant for no one, borne of her ever mounting terror. But the man – no, the pirate, there was no use in denying it – before her took this as yet another refusal to cooperate with him.

He advanced again. This time closing the distance between them entirely while lifting a dirty hand to grasp Evie's wrist. Without a thought, Evie wrenched herself from his grip and shoved him back with all her strength. He barely stumbled back, leaving no opening for Evie to run but that did not stop her from trying. She barrelled forward, trying to use her slight frame to clear herself a path to freedom. This bold action only succeeded in delivering her into her captor's arms. The pirate grasped her shoulders much like Arthur had done only hours before and slammed Evie into the bulkhead.

In a blink, the aged dagger on his belt was now pressed to the delicate skin of Evie's alabaster throat. He sneered down at her, pushing the cool iron into her throat hard enough to make her fear this was her end.

“Are you done?” A simple question but the threat behind it was clear: if she was not done herself, he would see that she was. Evie nodded fervently as she stared up at the man with pleading eyes.

“That's a good girl.” He praised her with a sickly sweet smile, lifting the blade from her throat to smooth the flat of it along her freckled cheek. Evie's eyes slipped shut in an instant, grimacing against his gentle touch.

“Let's go then.” Evie was hauled away from the bulkhead by a rough hand encompassing her silk covered upper arm. The pirate dragged her out of the cabin behind him while sheathing his dagger.

Once they were in the narrow passage way, she was shoved forward to walk in front of him. Every step was laden with terror. Each day of Evie's life had been planned for her for as long as she could recall. This day was never supposed to be one of them. But as fearful of the unknown that lay before as she was, she knew what would happen if she did not face it. Death was not what she wanted for this day.

The doorway that led to the main deck was a blinding white light at the top of a stairway. She ascended the stairs on barely responsive feet, tripping over each step she took. When she reached the doorway she hesitated for a moment, the smell of copper in the air making her ill. But another shove forced her stumbling into the light.

After sitting in her dark cabin for hours it took time for Evie's eyes to adjust to the late afternoon sunlight. But when they finally did she wished she had remained sun-blinded. The deck was a vignette from a horror story. When she had first stepped onto the deck, she had stumbled into a puddle, leaving her feet wet with seawater. Now she knew it wasn't the sea soaking into the silk covering her feet.

The deck was stained red with the lives of every sailor aboard the Seahorse. Evie turned quickly from the carnage before her, ready to run back to the safety of her cabin. However, her passage was barred by her pirate shadow. He lifted his hand to her chest, thrusting her back. Evie was sent careening backwards onto the deck. The heels of her blood-soaked feet caught on something – someone – behind her, knocking her off balance to tumble toward the deck. She didn't land on the reddened boards though. Instead, Evie found herself laying across the body of a man she had shared a meal with only days before.

Evie struggled against her unresponsive limbs in a bid to lift herself. The blood of men she had shared two months of her life with soaked into the back of her dress, turning the dull grey to a slick maroon. Every placement of her shaking hands below her was met with a pulseless body or sticky ruby puddle. Bile rose to the back of her throat as the coppery smell began to overwhelm her. But when she opened her mouth to be sick nothing happened. She couldn't even find her voice to cry out for the help she so desperately needed.

It would seem the request was not needed as her escort took hold of her upper arm once more. He hauled her to her feet without a care for the blood staining her attire and whipped her around toward the quarterdeck. Evie walked at his side without a struggle. She couldn't. There was no fight left in her. Not after seeing her fate. She would rather die in peace than attempt a battle she couldn't possibly win.

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.” Her voice returned to her in the form a barely whispered prayer. If she was going to perish on this day, then she would do so with the Maker’s words on her lips and His love in her heart.

“Stop that mumbling, girl.” The pirate hissed, causing Evie’s lips halted immediately. An apology was on her tongue until she remembered this reprimand had not been spoken by her father.

Reaching the top of the quarterdeck, Evie barely took notice of the familiar faces waiting amongst the pirates. She allowed herself to be pushed to her knees adjacent to her father who was shouting in a voice that sounded leagues away. He continued to bellow demands at their captors before a hard kick to his back sent him face first into the deck boards. Next to Arthur was Captain Mercer. The man swayed where he knelt, clutching his bloodied ribs while staring at the deck with sunken eyes. And standing above them all, flanked on both sides by pirates was Quartermaster Nixon, completely untouched.

“Just like he said.” Evie's escort informed the others with a casual nod in her direction. She would never be able to forget this man's voice. It would haunt for her the rest of her life. And in that moment, she was certain her end was nigh.

“So... so I'm safe then?” Quartermaster Nixon asked in an wobbly voice.

Evie watched with saddened eyes as the man edged himself toward the steps leading to the main deck. It was clear that he had betrayed them all: surrendered without a fight and informed their attackers that she was below deck. As heartbreaking as it was to know, she could not blame him. All of their lives were in grave danger, if he had a chance to save himself why would he not take it?

The four pirates began to chuckle lowly then. It was the laugh of men that were in a joke that everyone else was about to fall victim of. While it chilled Evie to her core, Quartermaster Nixon joined in with them: a squeamish smile breaking his face as he continued to back up to the stairway. Evie kept her focus on the pirates around her, acutely aware that something was about to happen. Whatever it may be, she refused not be caught unawares again. She would not go into the abyss with her eyes shut.

Laughter floated through the sea air until the sound of a man drowning cut through it. The pirates fell silent but their amused demeanour did not fade. Evie's frightened gaze flitted between them for a moment before she returned her focus to Quartermaster Nixon. He stood at the stop of the stairs, watching her with expressionless eyes. The contents of her stomach rose up once more as she stared in abject horror at the blood dribbling out from around the blade tip protruding from his mouth.

Evie's trembling hands flew to her own mouth as the ruby-coated blade disappeared and the quartermaster slumped over. Fear-laden eyes darted quickly from the lifeless body crumpled on the deck to the owner of the blade that caused it.

The sun shone brightly behind the figure, casting his face in a midnight black shadow. Light reflected off the iron of the four flintlocks across his chest as he stepped over the body laying before his flawless, polished boots. There was no doubt he was the man in charge. The deference that the other pirates showed him was more than enough to prove this but the air of superiority about him cemented his station.

Evie could feel the indifference with which he was regarding herself, her father, and the captain. The pirate captain strode toward trio, blood-coated cutlass still grasped casually in his hand. As he rounded Captain Mercer, Evie shifted her fear-filled eyes to the wounded man.

Everything began to happen in the flash of a blade. Beseeching cries spilled from Evie's lips as quickly as the blood from the captain's neck. As the pirate captain left yet another body in his wake, Evie pleaded for Arthur's life as well as her own. She reached for her father, who had been as silent as the bodies around them this whole time, and clutched at his sleeve. Tears rolled heavily down her cheeks as she searched for anything that would see her father's and her own life spared.

When Evie beheld the black flag flapping in the strong headwind over the adjoining pirate ship her panic rose. “You fly the black!” She shrieked, lifting her free hand to point a quivering finger to the flag. “Please, sir! You fly the black! Show us clemency! Please!”

Turning her sight back to the pirate captain, Evie was met with a pair of charcoal black eyes. They stared into hers with the same concern one would regard an insect under one's boot. His deadened gaze never faltered as he stopped behind Arthur.

Evie's shrill pleas continued to fall on deaf ears but she refused to stop, not even the glint of the blade or the crimson geyser could halt her wailing. She continued to beg for her life and the life her father no longer possessed until a loud crack echoed through the air and a sharp pain blossomed at the back of her skull.

With her cheek pressed to the bloodied deck and her world fading to black, Evie heard one final word filtering down from high up on the main mast.

“Sails!”


	3. Chapter III

The massive sails were barely discernible on the horizon, an untrained eye could easily mistake them for a trick of the late afternoon light, yet Captain Cullen Rutherford would know the straining canvas anywhere. He glowered at them, hoping the weight of his stare alone could stop the galleon from making its escape. This was not the first time he had had to watch that ship sail away, carrying the object of his deepest ire to continued freedom. As much as he loathed to admit it, even to himself, he knew it would not be the last.

It wasn't until the hull of his own ship, the Templar's Revenge, nudged the parallel brigantine that he tore his amber gaze away. Squinting against the late afternoon sun, he inspected the deck of the adjoining ship. He had seen butchery such as this dozens of times before, yet it was not something he could ever become accustom to.

As soon as the gangway was in place to connect the two ships, Cullen stalked across. Even as a gust of wind jostled the rickety plank, threatening to upend him into the briny deep gurgling below, his long strides remained confident. He didn't spare a glance over his shoulder to ensure his boarding party was in tow; they would follow him into the Void itself no matter how many times he told them not to. They called it loyalty, and while they were technically correct, Cullen often thought of it as insubordination.

The moment his well-loved leather boots touched down on the other side, he surveyed the gruesome scene with a weary gaze. The air was thick with the stench of death, an odour as familiar to him as the surf on a blazing Caribbean morning. His grip on the lion-headed pommel of his sheathed cutlass tightened as he peered into the faces of the fallen men before him. Every one of them serving as a reminder of yet another failure on his part.

A hand resting on the shoulder of his burgundy longcoat went completely unnoticed by the pensive captain. Looking at the carnage before him, Cullen began to second guess his decision to investigate the merchant vessel. If they were to set sail right away there was a small chance the Revenge could catch up with the wayward vessel. He had the opportunity to end this fight now but he was throwing it away for not.

“Captain!” A thick voice broke through the tumultuous waves of Cullen's mind, dragging him up from the depths of his own torturous thoughts.

Looking to the owner of the inked hand on his left shoulder, he nodded curtly to his quartermaster, Cassandra Pentaghast. She watched him studiously with eyes as grey as a stormy sky. Shrugging off her companionable touch, he set his jaw and began to relay his orders to her and the rest of the boarding party.

“Spread out!” Cullen's bellowed command petered off when he traced the towering pole of the main mast and caught sight of a body hanging from the gaff. Clearing his throat, he took a careful step back, avoiding the bodies strewn across the deck, and turned to the railing. “You all know your jobs, I shouldn't have to remind you.” Leaning heavily onto the stained wood, he spoke in a more subdued tone. “And for the love of the Maker, someone cut that man down. Carefully.”

The entire crew hastened to their duties then: a small group proceeding to the open hatch leading below deck while another group began to move among the dead. All except for one. Cassandra continued to stand at Cullen's side, bringing a slight scowl to his face. “You have your orders, quartermaster.” He grit out in an effort to have her abandon whatever it was she as about to say.

“I do, but,” Cassandra was never one to drop a line of thought once she had it. “You seem troubled. Or perhaps I should say, more troubled than usual.”

He lifted sullen eyes to meets hers. “We're standing on a ghost ship, Cassandra.”

“We've been on many before.” She countered flatly. “Why is this one different?”

Heaving a deep sigh, Cullen shook his head. “It's not. It's just--” He paused to face Cassandra but his gaze travelled over the bodies littering the deck rather than meet the scrutiny of her hardened stare. “It's not...” He repeated. And she was right, there was nothing different about this ship than any of the others.

Yet...

“Just get me the manifests from the captain's quarters. I'm going to look for the survivor.” He turned his back to her as he spoke, setting his sights on the quarterdeck.

“Cullen, you know there's a chance--”

“Save it, Cassandra.” Cullen barked before immediately wincing. Lifting his right hand from its resting place on the pommel of his cutlass, he slipped it under the long bundled curls at his nape to rub his neck. “He always leaves one.” He murmured while glancing over his shoulder.

Cassandra was still standing in the same place, her hands on her hips and an impassive expression etched across her strong features. Cullen remained in his spot as well, waiting for the admonishment from his quartermaster that never came. With a tip of her chin, she turned on her heels to march toward the captain's quarters silently.

With Cassandra gone to fulfil her duties, Cullen was finally able to ascend the steps to the quarterdeck. When he crested the stairs he stopped at the first body he found, a man with an obviously fatal wound in the back of his head. Kneeling beside the body, Cullen rolled the sailor over to find blood covering his chin, neck, and chest. Bowing his head, he began to recite the only words he could possibly spare for his fallen comrade.

“The Light shall lead them safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For they who trusts in the Maker, fire is their water...”

The hushed prayer fell from his lips almost entirely on its own; having been spoken so often Cullen barely had to spare a thought to utter the verse. However, where there was little thought there was a great deal of care. Every soul, no matter their actions in life, deserved a chance to be seated at the Maker's side. Cullen would ensure they received that chance. One at a time, if he must.

Now that one man's last rites had been given, Cullen rose once more and turned to survey the rest of the quarterdeck. All the air in his lungs escaped in a single gush as he finally absorbed his surroundings. Only a foot in front of him there lay three bodies, two men and a young woman.

Cullen gazed plaintively at the blood soaked body of the woman. He had seen many women slain in his time so the sight of her, even bathed in crimson as she was, should be no shock to him. Yet, he felt a pit of despair as he looked at the young woman laying face down in a pool of congealing blood. Perhaps it was her age, looking to be little more than twenty by his eyes. Or perhaps it the dread of learning what sort of brutal wounds would have her stained a shade to match the vibrant hue of her dishevelled hair. This was not how her life should have ended. It was not how anyone's life should end.

Tearing his morose gaze from the young woman, Cullen eased himself down onto a bended knee beside the next closest body. The man was laid out on his side facing Cullen, making is easy for the dour pirate captain to see the deep slash across his neck in addition to many other fatal wounds over his body. With a resigned sigh, Cullen once again recited the Chant and sent his fellow sailor to the Maker's side where he belonged.

Next to the gravely wounded sailor was the body of man in a tailored suit. The only flaw in the otherwise pristine brocade was the blood that had poured from his gaping neck. Even in death the man's hair was perfectly styled and his hands immaculate. Clearly a passenger on the vessel, perhaps the proprietor, but certainly not a sailor. This gentleman may even share a relation with the young lady, Cullen thought as he glanced back to the only remaining body on the quarterdeck.

He froze then, blinking his eyes several times in disbelief. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the young woman's body, her back to be specific. A light breeze rustled the scarlet locks that lay over the blood stained grey fabric and the ship rocked gently with the current. He thought for a moment that the movement he had gleamed had been a trick of the eye but then he saw it again: the steady rise and fall of her back.

“Maker's breath.” Cullen gasped, whirling around on his knee. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he reached for the young woman.

He may have set out to find a survivor but he was expecting them to be one of the riggers or gunners, a nobody on the ship, so to speak. As he gingerly rolled the young woman onto her back it became clear to him she was of high standing in society; the dress she wore was well tailored and made from fine silk and lace rather than rough wool and cotton. Her dainty hands were as smooth as the silk encasing her voluptuous curves. Her skin, apart from the gore smeared across it, was sprinkled with a light dusting of freckles over her nose and utterly flawless. She had most certainly never worked a day in her life.

With great care, Cullen wrapped his left arm around her corseted waist, cradled her head in his right hand, and pulled her into his lap. Lowering his head to her chest, he waited and prayed for the one sound he needed to hear. A sigh of unfettered relief rushed from his lungs as he listened to the steady rhythm under the ample bosom. And when he pulled away to look her over once more, he was greeted by a pair of hooded emerald eyes. He parted his lips and inhaled to greet her, assure her that she was safe now, however before he could utter a single word her eyelids fluttered shut and she fell limp in his arms.

Cullen tucked his precious cargo close to his chest then, slipping the arm around her waist under her knees and lifting her head to rest on his shoulder. Her survival and, to a lesser extent, the information she could provide were his only concern; the blood staining his white shirt, the material goods in the brigantine's hold, the crew he was leaving in his wake were all a distant thought.

His heavy steps forced crimson clots to adhere to his boots. He shouted roughly as he raced back across the gangway, though his words went completely unnoticed by him; his silent invocations to the Maker were all he could concentrate on. It wasn't until he was trailing bloody bootprints toward his cabin on the Revenge that he realised he had been moving at all. And when the echo of a second, smaller pair of boots reached his ears he knew what he had been bellowing to the heavens for.

“You called, captain?” The owner of the cheerful voice followed Cullen into his cabin, an overlarge satchel crowding her stocky arms.

“We have a survivor, Dagna.” His arms flexed involuntarily as he spoke in a pinched voice, as if the tighter he held the young woman the safer she would be. “Probably the only one.”

Dagna flashed Cullen a sunny grin and turned to the round dining table at their backs, depositing her bag. “Alright. Let's have a look, shall we?”

Cullen may have heard the words but their meaning was lost on him. He gazed down at the redhead resting in his arms, watching the way her eyelids flickered under her furrowed brow. The memory of two dimming emeralds staring up at him lurched to the forefront of his mind. The terror she had felt was as clear as the freckles on her nose and with the gore covering her body, he understood completely. There was no telling what horrors she was forced to witness, forced to endure to cause such an appearance.

“Captain..?” A wary voice pulled Cullen from his trance and his eyes from his guest to the dwarven surgeon standing at his side. “It will be a challenge to examine her when she's out of my reach.” Dagna laughed, motioning to his bed.

With the care normally reserved for the most delicate of flowers, Cullen reluctantly laid the young woman atop the white linen covering his bed. The moment his arms were no longer supporting her body, Dagna elbowed past him. The perky dwarf stood at the bedside, two hands on her cocked hips. She stared contemplatively for half a heartbeat before pulling a dagger from her belt and began divesting her patient of her soiled garments.

Cullen spun around to put his back to the scene before the dagger could make its first cut. The sound of tearing fabric filling the smoky air told him it was time for his exit. Keeping his eyes trained on the tattered rug beneath his feet he moved swiftly to the cabin door. However, a pause in the symphony of ripping silk and Dagna's voice forced him to stop.

“I will need assistance, captain.”

With a defeated sigh, Cullen glanced over his shoulder only to whip his head away fast enough to make the room spin. Dagna had made quick work of the young woman's dress and petticoat, leaving her in nothing but a finely embroidered corset over a thin chemise that was already torn open. The vision of shapely legs, rounded hips, a curvacious waist, and an ample bosom was seared into his mind. In an instant, a blistering heat seared his face before scorching down his neck and chest to settle in the southern reaches of his abdomen.

“I-I'll send someone in at once.” Cullen called whilst wrenching open the heavy oak door.

The admonishments that filled his mind were instant. This woman was in his charge, he could not, should not , be seeing her in any state of undress. She was a victim of a heinous act, most likely to be frightened when she wakes – if she wakes – and a possible source of valuable information. She was a guest on his ship, nothing more.

Yet, as he stepped into the blinding light of day from his darkened cabin he could not shake the vision of her prone form from his mind. It had been years since he had a woman in his arms, and longer still since he had one in his bed. And this woman, injured and bloodied as she may be, was a sight to behold.

Cullen pressed his forefinger and thumb into his tired eyes. He tried to focus on the pressure of his fingers rather than the strain under his belt. But no amount of effort could banish the apparition of tousled scarlet tresses, stunning emerald eyes, and comely porcelain curves tantalizing him behind his closed lids.

“So ya done screamin' like a lunatic?” The voice of Revenge's rigger pierced Cullen's ears, interrupting his private fantasy and causing a groan of both relief and slight annoyance to slip from his lips. Dropping his hand to wrap around the hilt of his cutlass, he opened his amber eyes to find Sera and Cassandra standing before him. Sera held an amused grin on her lips as she watched him with twinkling grey eyes. “'Cause I'll go back to plunderin' and the like if you ain't.”

“I wasn't--” Cullen cut himself off with a sigh; there was no use in arguing with Sera. “Yes, Sera. I'm done. Could you... Dagna requires assistance with our guest.” He gestured lamely to the closed door behind him as he spoke.

“Aye, aye Captain!” Sera exclaimed with a flourished salute. Cullen turned his attention to his quartermaster as Sera marched past him only to have his eyes and ears reclaimed by the rigger when she reached the door that would admit her into his cabin. “It better not be gross in there. Ya know I'll help Widdle but I don't do gross!” She yanked open the door with one hand while pointing an ardent finger at her captain with the other. As she stomped through over the threshold Cullen could only shake his head in bewilderment. “And don't nobody touch the stuff I claimed! It's mine!”

Once Sera had disappeared into the cabin, Cullen and Cassandra were free to speak. They ambled across the main deck of the Revenge together, neither one of them paying any mind to the low hanging sun, for the dangers of the Caribbean at night were no stranger to either of them. The two seasoned sailors stopped when they reached the railing that faced the adjoining brigantine, both taking on an authoritative stance. A pregnant silence settled over the pair, only broken by the howling wind and bustling of their crew across the way.

Cullen did his utmost to ignore the scrutinizing stare he was being subjected to, instead focusing on the boarding party as they secured the merchant vessel's cargo.

“I see you were correct about there being a survivor.” But you won't always be so lucky . Cullen could barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes as the unsaid words hung in the air. It may be Cassandra's job to see his idealism did not put everyone's lives in danger but there were times he wished she did not take to her position so avidly.

“Aye.” Cullen stated with a concise nod. “She was on the quarterdeck. A passenger on the ship by the looks of her.” His eyes glazed over for a moment as he recalled the scene in which he found her before continuing. “She um... I am unsure as to whether she will survive her injuries... So you may get your wish, quartermaster.”

“That isn't--”

“Do you have the ship's manifests?” Cullen cut in abruptly while glancing pointedly at the bundle under Cassandra's heavily tattooed right arm. She thrust the pile of parchment and bound leather into his chest with a scowl. “And the cargo and stores?” He inquired, bringing his hand to his chest to take the bundle.

“We'll be ready to depart within the next two hours, captain.” She informed him tersely.

Dropping his gaze to the manifests, Cullen listened to the scrape of Cassandra's boots on the deck boards signalling her leave. He flipped through the topmost book, the crew and passenger charter, scanning the names in search of the only one he cared to know at the moment.

“And captain..?” Cassandra's hesitant voice did nothing to pull Cullen's focus from the parchment before him. He hummed his acknowledgement, amber eyes still scouring the inked names before she continued. “I do hope your guest survives. Any life lost is a tragedy.”

Just as Cassandra finished speaking, Cullen found exactly what he was searching for on the last page of the manifest. Under a hastily scrawled header marked “Passengers” was a name: simple but filled seemingly endless possibilities.

_            Miss Evelyn Trevelyan _

“As do I, Cassandra.” Cullen murmured, lifting his wistful gaze to the dark oak door of his cabin. “As do I.”


	4. Chapter IV

After Cassandra had returned to the merchant vessel to oversee the procurement of the prize, Cullen was left to his own devices. Rather than stare at the door of his cabin, knowing there was nothing he could do to help Dagna with their guest, he moved to the front of the Revenge. Planting himself on the steps connecting the forecastle to the main deck, he tried to review the rest of the manifests Cassandra had retrieved for him. However, he only managed to make it as far as learning the merchant vessel's name. **  
**

A dry, bitter laugh slipped from Cullen's quirked lips when he saw the name embossed in fading gold lettering on the front of the cargo manifest. The Seahorse. A plain and predictable name, meant to bring good luck and protection to the vessel that bears it. The brigantine his crew was now emptying had clearly needed more than a name to keep it safe.

After the cynical humour had worn off, Cullen turned to the page denoting the most recent haul and his concentration was shattered. The page itself looked the same as any other inventory one would find on a merchant vessel. Save for a note tucked into the pages. Written in ink that danced across the parchment there was a brief yet endlessly polite message signed with a name. A name filled that his head with visions of blood-soaked silk and terror-filled eyes.

> _Thank you ever so much for allowing me the extra space in the hold for my additional trunk, Captain Mercer. I am forever in your debt._
> 
> _Humbly,_   
>  _Miss Evie Trevelyan_   
> 

The ledger was snapped shut in an instant. The worn leather creaked under Cullen's tight grip as his thoughts turned once more to his guest. He had yet to even speak to this young woman – Miss Trevelyan – and yet she would not leave his thoughts.

She may have information he needed.

He reminded himself of this again and again, gathering the rest of the charts and manifests sitting at his side and rising from his perch. He stalked across the main deck of the Revenge, weaving between the crew members that were loading the cargo from the Seahorse into their own hold. Each burdensome step he took was muted by the bustling around him. Yet Cullen took notice of none of it. His sole focus was the dark oak door leading to his cabin and life of the woman behind it.

For the information she may hold.

Cullen reached the swath of free deck space before his cabin door and readied himself for a long wait. However, before he could start his march to wear the tar from the deck boards, the door swung open unceremoniously.

Sera emerged from the darkened room, holding in her arms a soiled dress and underthings that clearly belonged to Miss Trevelyan. Without so much as a glance in her captain's direction she moved to the railing of the Revenge and tossed the blood-stained garments overboard.

“Wanna take bets on how long it'll take ‘fore we see sharks?” She laughed, watching the silk float atop the waves.

“How is she?” Cullen demanded, ignoring the elven rigger's asinine question. “That woman may have information we could use. If she doesn't–”

“She's quite well, captain.” Cullen turned to his dwarven surgeon standing in the threshold between the main deck and his cabin. Dagna all but skipped to where he stood, grinning merrily. “Other than a pretty nasty knock to the back of her head, she's unharmed.” She explained, wiping the blood from her hands with a tattered rag.

Cullen blanched, shaking his head. “Dagna, she was... she was covered blood.” He gestured to himself and the maroon that marred his white shirt, stains he received from simply carrying the young woman in question. “You're telling me she has no injuries other than a bump to her head?”

“It sounds mad, I know. But I cleaned her up–”

“'Ey! I helped!” Sera interjected defensively.

“Sera and I cleaned her up.” Dagna amended politely, earning a nod of approval from Sera and an exasperated sigh from Cullen. “And I examined her fully. She's almost entirely unharmed. She will have quite the headache when she wakes but she is perfectly fine. She's resting in your bed. Hope you don't mind but I borrowed one of your shirts to dress her.”

The tension Cullen hadn't realised he was holding in his broad shoulders and tanned neck went lax then. His vice-like grip on the bundle of paper and leather in his calloused hands loosened and the breath that was caught in his chest escaped in a gush. All that panic, all the obsessive thoughts, were for a knock to her skull. He couldn't be sure if it was relief or annoyance he felt. Perhaps a touch of both.

“Thank you, Dagna.” Cullen breathed, giving her a friendly pat on her shoulder. When Sera, who was still bent over the railing watching for sharks, cleared her throat loudly, he turned his sights to her and nodded gratefully. “Yes, Sera. Thank you for assisting Dagna.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Sera called, waving her arm casually. “'Sides, Widdle had me doin' all the heavy-liftin' while she did her checkin' and dressin'. Don't know if you noticed but that is one curvy hoity-toity. Woof.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, doing his best to banish the image of round hips and bare legs that resurfaced. Yes, he had definitely noticed. “You're both dismissed.” He sighed with a shake of his head. He didn't dare open his eyes again until the sound of Sera's raucous laughter and Dagna's barely stifled snickers faded into the bustling of his crew.

Cullen entered the darkened cabin with measured steps. The dim yellow glow of the lanterns strewn across the room were nothing compared to the harsh light of the setting Caribbean sun. He closed the door carefully behind him and stood at the ingress of the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

When the shadowed shapes finally transformed into the worn furniture he knew so well, he made his way further in. His boots sounded louder than usual as he walked toward the large round table in the center of the room. He tried to keep his gaze forward, doing his best to ignore the woman in his bed. But as he passed by the table on the opposite side of his grand bed, he couldn't stop his curious eyes from wandering.

Miss Trevelyan was tucked under the sheets now. Her voluptuous body covered but not fully concealed by the thin cotton draped over her. The blood and grime had been wiped from her face, revealing her features to Cullen fully. Amber eyes melted over full lips, up a freckled nose, beyond flickering eyelids and a furrowed brow to the curls framing her face. The simple hairstyle she had worn before was let down so that her long scarlet waves flowed over his pillow. Even with her features marred by the fear she still displayed even in sleep she looked radiant. Her porcelain skin glowed softly in the warmth of the lantern light, bringing a slight twitch to his hands. How that perfect skin would feel under his calloused fingertips.

Cullen ripped his voyeuristic stare from unaware woman, directing it down to his black leather boots. He watched their journey over the worn wood boards, silently berating himself for his distraction. Arriving at his desk, he dropped the manifests that he had been clutching atop the polished rosewood. He tugged the leather tie from his long hair and shook out his sweat matted curls while reminding himself this woman did not need his lurid eyes upon her while she slept. She was a guest on his ship and a possible source of intelligence on his enemy. She was not here to be ogled by him.

Tossing the leather tie onto his desk next to the manifests, Cullen turned to the weapon rack situated against the wall on his right to deposit his lion-headed cutlass and single-shot flintlock. When he pulled his dagger from his belt, he paused to examine the floral etching over the polished iron hilt before returning to his desk. He placed the blade carefully amongst the other items already strewn across the surface. As they say, old habits die hard.

With his weapons now removed from his person, he slipped his burgundy longcoat from his shoulders and draped it over the back of his chair. Next his soiled tunic was pulled over his head, folded neatly, and placed atop his chest of drawers behind his desk after he had retrieved a somewhat clean one from within. He tugged the replacement tunic over his head, pulling his loose curls down into his eyes. Long, powerful fingers carded through the unruly blonde hair, shoving the curls back out of his eyes.

With everything in its proper place, Cullen perched himself upon his threadbare desk chair. He spread the various papers and books from the bundle of manifests across his writing desk, meticulously organizing them into different piles. Keeping his head down, he set out to learn anything he could while he waited for his chance to speak to the nearly naked woman resting soundly in his bed only a few short steps away.

The minutes ticked by almost entirely unnoticed by the captain. He was so completely engrossed in his study of the Seahorse’s navigational charts he couldn't tell any time had passed until a knock at his door pulled him back to his surroundings. He didn't get the chance to lift his head before the shrill squeak of rusted door hinges pierced his ears. And when he did look up, it was Cassandra's shadow that loomed in the entryway.

“Are we ready to get underway?” Cullen leaned back in his seat as he spoke, tossing the caliper that was clutched in his right hand onto the surface of his desk.

Cassandra stepped forward, leaving the heavy oak door wide open behind her. “The ship has been swept fully. The contents of the hold and stores have been stowed, and every soul has been given their last rites.” She reported tersely from where she had stopped at the dining table opposite her captain.

Cullen nodded approvingly. “Then we should set out at once.”

“Our heading?” Cassandra asked with a slight quirk of her brow.

Cullen gestured to the chart laid out before him. “The ship was bound for Kingston. Port Royal to be specific.” He glanced quickly to Miss Trevelyan slumbering form then back to Cassandra. “We will see that she reaches her destination.”

“At once, captain.” Cassandra turned to leave but paused when two crewmen entered carrying a large trunk between them. “This was found in one of the guest cabins.” She explained. Cullen sat forward in his seat when he noticed Cassandra glance to Miss Trevelyan. “It's filled with women's clothing and what appears to be some personal items. Your guest will most likely want to clothe herself when she wakes.”

“Thank you, quartermaster.” Cassandra waved off Cullen's gratitude as she strolled through the doorway, bringing an amicable grin to his lips.

With Cassandra having gone to relay their heading to the helmsman, Cullen directed his grateful smile to the crewmen placing the trunk at the foot of the bed. A smile that quickly turned into a scowl when one of the men lingered, his eyes wandering over Miss Trevelyan's sleeping form with immodest interest. When the crewman noticed his captain's livid stare, he averted his gaze and rushed from the room, his fellow close behind.

Alone with his guest once more, Cullen rose from his seat. Out of sheer habit, he retrieved the dagger from its resting place on his desk before strolling to the side of his bed. He peered down at Miss Trevelyan's sleeping form, noting her restlessness.

Soon she would wake in a place she did not recognize after being attacked, presumably after watching the men she had been travelling with for months be slaughtered. Fear, panic, and confusion would seize her in equal measure as she struggled to understand what was happening. She would be alone with men and women she did not know or trust with no way to defend herself...

Cullen glanced to the dagger gripped in his hand, watching the warm glow from the lanterns glint off the blade. With his eyes trained on the slight weapon, he laid it gingerly on the bed next to Miss Trevelyan’s hand. Her fingers twitched when his knuckles brushed them, prompting him to jerk his hand away. Stepping back from the bed, he leaned against the table to ponder if providing this young woman with a weapon was wise. He wanted her to feel as though she could trust him, but there must be a better way than arming her.

However, before he could second guess his decision fully, movement caught his eye. Lifting his gaze to Miss Trevelyan’s face, he watched her long lashes flutter against the freckles on her cheeks before peering into the same emerald eyes as before.

He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he corrected his posture. “Welcome to the Templar’s Revenge.”


	5. Chapter V

Cullen's polite greeting had done very little to put Miss Trevelyan at ease; any movement he dared to make, no matter how minor, saw the young woman recoiling further into the feather mattress below. Distress had lifted her dark auburn eyebrows higher on her forehead and drawn her full lips into a tight, grim line. Emerald encircled the blown pupils that studied any twitch or shift he made carefully, as if she were afraid the moment she looked away was when he would descend upon her. Not even as she began to search for the hem of the sheet covering her, did her ardent stare falter. Trembling hands quested blindly over the mattress until she was able to curl her fingers around the cotton and tug the coverings up to her chin.

Cullen kept his smile in place as best he could but the minutes that ticked by felt more like hours and he was beginning to lose his patience. He needed his questions answered and this woman was the only person who could do that at the moment. He tried to remind himself that he shouldn't rush her. The last thing she would remember was being in immediate danger, it would take time for her to process that she was now safe, that she had nothing to fear anymore.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Cullen turned and began to move toward his desk. The single half-step he took caused his guest to flinch. He paused for just a second, exhaling a weary sigh before continuing his casual journey.

Standing at his desk with his back to the bed, Cullen retrieved the pitcher of fresh water and tin cup from their resting place on the rosewood surface. “You needn't be afraid, miss.” He assured Miss Trevelyan while filling the cup. “No harm will come to you here.”

“Why not?”

Cullen's heart leapt into his throat the moment her quivering words met his ears. She spoke quietly, whether that was the usual cadence of her voice or a reaction to her situation was impossible to tell, but it was soothing nonetheless. And her estuary accent filled him with a sense of familiarity and longing. Never in his life had a single voice made him feel more at peace, more at home than the gentle whisper he was hearing now.

“I know who you are…” It was both a declaration and accusation. Cullen’s eyes widened and a slight grin graced his lips upon hearing this. Perhaps her trust would be far easier to win than he initially thought.

“You've already killed so many. Why would you spare me?”

Or perhaps not.

The calm he found in the song of her voice and the confidence her words had instilled in him dissipated in an instant. Cullen nearly slammed the pitcher onto the desk in his haste to spin around. And when he was facing Miss Trevelyan once more, he found her huddled in the far corner of his bed, the white sheets pulled up with her to keep herself covered. She held the dagger between her hands, the tip of the blade pointed toward him in a most ineffectual manner.

“You killed them all...” Miss Trevelyan quavered, her tear-filled eyes focused ardently on him. “I had heard that you were ruthless, but this? You just killed them... You fly the black but you show no mercy...”

Cullen gaped at Miss Trevelyan, shaking his head furiously. “No, you misunderstand.” He moved to close the distance between them once more but halted when she winced. “I wasn't– No one on this ship would–” He cut himself off with a defeated sigh, allowing his broad shoulders to sag when she straightened her arms to thrust her bared weapon toward him.

Tired amber eyes lowered to the dagger quivering in Miss Trevelyan's hands, almost entranced by the flickering of the lantern light off the polished blade. When he had provided her with the weapon it was to give her a sense of security, knowing he would want it were he in her place, but he had hoped she wouldn't actually turn it on him. And he certainly didn't think she would assume he was the one who had attacked her ship.

But he should have known better. A girl like her would have heard the stories that made him the legend he is. The stories of a man gone mad. Of a man who lusts for nothing but the blood of the innocent and the gold in their purse. Stories that could not be further from the truth.

Stories that should be attributed to the man that attacked her.

Cullen lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. “Miss, I can understand how this must seem but you don't...”

Barely audible whispers had Cullen tearing his gaze from the dagger to the face of the young woman wielding it. Miss Trevelyan's gaze had dropped to stare with unfocused eyes at the sheets before her. The movement of her lush lips was nearly impossible to discern in the low light of the cabin. Keeping a careful watch on both her mouth and eyes in equal measure, he shuffled closer to the bed and strained his hearing. The reverent words being mumbled in the gentle cadence were ones he recognized instantly.

“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder.”

Miss Trevelyan's emerald eyes remained locked on the thin linen sheet even as Cullen slipped back into his former spot between the bed and dining table. Placing the water-filled tin cup onto the table behind him, he settled in to lean once more against the lacquered pine. He did his utmost to keep his stance as unthreatening as possible: large hands resting on the wood surface, shoulders rolled back, chin up to keep himself open and hopefully, welcoming.

Cullen's grin returned unbidden when Miss Trevelyan began to recite the next verse, her musical voice once again returning the calm to his heart and mind. And before he could stop himself, the Chant began to slip from his own scarred lips so he could add his voice to hers.

“Who knows me as You do? You have been there since before my first breath. You have seen me when no other would recognize my face. You composed the cadence of my heart.”

The look of unmitigated surprise on Miss Trevelyan's face as they finished the verse in tandem forced the corners of Cullen's lips higher on his cheeks. The tears brimming her eyes no longer wavered as if they may fall at any moment and her full lips hung open the barest amount.

“You... you know the Chant?” She whispered as she retracted her arms. Clutching the dagger to her chest, she pulled her knees up to curl into herself.

“I was raised on the word of the Maker, miss.” Cullen explained kindly. “Just as you were.”

Cullen watched curiously as Miss Trevelyan dropped her chin to rest against her sternum. Her long scarlet tresses swept forward, curtaining her features and bathing her face in shadows. Her eyes darted across the linen covering her knees, almost as though she were searching for an explanation in the thin fabric. She looked more adrift now than she had when she first woke; as if the very idea of him knowing the Chant was impossible to comprehend.

Now that she seemed less likely to attack him for simply being present, Cullen grabbed one of the dining chairs from its place tucked into the table and dragged it to where he stood. Depositing himself onto the lacquered pine, he offered his skittish guest an amicable smile before speaking.

“Miss Trevelyan – Evelyn – that is your name, is it not?”

Her head snapped up quickly. “Evie.” She corrected him before shaking her head and amending her own words in a meek voice. “But it will be Miss... Miss Trevelyan to you, sir.”

An amused chuckle shook Cullen's shoulder before he could stifle it. “Well, Miss Evie, my name is Cullen Rutherford, as you already know it would seem. Although, it's Captain Rutherford to you.” He flashed Miss Evie a cheeky grin, trying to breath a small bit of levity into the situation. But when she gawked at him with the most scandalized look he had ever seen he backpedaled. “Cullen would do fine, as well.” He assured her, his smile settling to something akin to an expression shared between friends.

Leaning back in his seat, he studied her befuddled expression for just a moment before continuing. “I am not the one who attacked your ship. Nor was I the one to kill the men aboard it. I am, however, after the one who did do it. He has been terrorizing these waters for years now. Making life hell for any who choose to sail them.”

She lifted her gaze to him, not quite meeting his eye. “How can I know you're telling me the truth...? How can I trust you...?”

“I armed you, for one.” Cullen stated with a pointed glance to the dagger. “Do you really think I'd provide you with a weapon if I planned to deceive you?” Miss Evie stared at the shining blade her in hand, her brows pulled together.

“You saw the flag the ship that attacked you was flying?” When Miss Evie slowly lifted her gaze and nodded, Cullen continued. “If you are willing, I could take you out on deck and show you this ship's flag. Our standard is quite different than the one flown by your attacker. If you can’t trust my word, you can trust your own eyes, yes?”

A heavy silence dragged on between the pair for a moment. Miss Evie stared at him thoughtfully, emerald eyes flitting across his face until they met his. She quickly averted her gaze, a rosy tint rising to her cheeks that was barely discernible through the gloom blanketing his cabin.

“I haven't anything to wear...” She finally murmured, tugging the sheet closer to her body.

Cullen rose from his seat quickly, fast enough to cause Miss Evie to lurch back and raise her dagger once more. Offering her an apologetic smile, he kept his movements deliberate on his short journey to the end of the bed while she scampered to the head, maintaining the distance between them.

“This was discovered in a cabin on your ship.” He explained as he gestured to the trunk from before. “I assume it belongs to you. I'm told it's filled with dresses and the like.”

Miss Evie continued to hold the dagger against her chest with one hand and lifted the other to tuck an arrant lock of hair behind her ear. “You didn't check?” She asked while leaning forward the barest amount to peer at the trunk in question.

“No.” Cullen assured her with a shake of his head. “It doesn't belong to me.”

Miss Evie's puzzled expression brought the grin back to Cullen's lips. He had assumed she would be unsure of him but it would seem his piety and respect was far more baffling to her than his lack of desire to murder her in cold blood.

“Take as much time as you need to dress. I will be waiting just outside the door for you when you are ready.”

Turning from the bed, Cullen strode toward the door of his cabin. Just before he opened it he glanced over his shoulder to the scarlet-haired beauty seated on his bed. He allowed his eyes to rove over her frame for just a moment, memorizing the way she looked tangled in his sheets, wearing his tunic, for he was sure he would not be privileged to such a sight again. Not with the look of unadulterated fear she was giving him.

The last vestiges of sunlight were disappearing on the horizon in the west when Cullen stepped out onto the main deck. The darkness that blanketed the Revenge was being quickly chased away by the various crew members lighting oil lanterns positioned along the deck. They nodded respectfully to their captain as they passed, a greeting he barely took notice of. Now that Miss Evie was awake, he was doing his utmost to focus on getting the answers to his questions. But her comely curves and arresting features were making it difficult to concentrate.

As Cullen's time on deck went on, his head became more clear. The crisp night air filled his lungs with every steady breath, clearing the fog from his mind that was brought about by the beauty currently inhabiting his cabin. The reason for Miss Evie being there crept to the forefront of his mind: information. He needed her to trust him if he had any chance of learning what she knew. Any knowledge she held could aid with his fight. Besides which, the journey to Kingston would take less than a fortnight. She would be gone from his life then, there was no use in getting attached to such a temporary companion.

There was not a single ray of sunshine left in the sky to witness Miss Evie's emergence from the darkened cabin. The only light left to see her appear on the main deck of the Revenge was the amber glow of Cullen's eyes and the dim lanterns on deck. He halted his pacing steps the moment the squeal of the door hinges rang out and lifted his gaze from the deck boards to the woman he had been anxiously waiting for.

Now that she was standing at her full height, Cullen could see that it was not so great. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder; he could imagine even standing on the tips of her toes with her long hair piled atop her head as before she would still only reach his chin.

“Miss Evie,” He motioned for her to join him when she lingered in the doorway, scanning the darkened deck with unsure eyes. She stepped forward hesitantly, the ivory silk encasing her curves reflecting the light of the lanterns to reveal a barely discernible floral pattern. A grin broke out across Cullen's face when he took in the sight of her fully. “Glad to see you came prepared.” The polished iron dagger remained clutched to her corseted chest, the point of the blade directed toward her chin in an outstanding show of inexperience with weaponry.

Like a cornered animal searching helpessly for a way to freedom, Miss Evie's emerald gaze darted across the gloomy deck. Her petite hands tightened around the floral etching on the dagger's hilt, the squeak of skin on metal cutting through the night air. Her mouth opened and closed several times, consternation and apprehension twisting her delicate features, clearly struggling to find an explanation for her arming.

Cullen's amusement turned to worry in a matter of seconds. “Oh, Maker's breath... I didn't mean...” His right hand disappeared under his loose blonde hair, rubbing at the back of his neck. At the same time, he turned his gaze to the starry sky, silently beseeching the heavens to help remove his foot from his mouth.

Unwilling to leave himself ruffled in front of Miss Evie, Cullen drew in a deep, calming breath then returned his gaze to her. “The dagger is fine.” He explained evenly. “Shall we move to the quarterdeck? I can show you our standard then perhaps you won't feel the need for a weapon.” He gestured toward the short stairway directly right of his position as he spoke in an even tone.

Cullen waited patiently for Miss Evie to shuffle past him before following. Her every step was punctuated with a nervous glance over her shoulder for which he could not blame her. However, he was not foolish enough to turn his back on an armed unknown. No matter how unassuming they may seem.

They stood together at the bottom of the stairs, Miss Evie's eyes were affixed on a place at the top, her expression unreadable. Clearing his throat, Cullen motioned for her to ascend the steps but she did not budge. Rather, she lowered her head, her freckled nose coming within an inch of the dagger’s point causing Cullen to tense.

“If we are going to make any progress, you will have to climb the steps.” He coaxed gently.

“I...” She shrunk into herself, her right foot sliding back in preparation to run. “I can’t… I can’t go up there. Not- not again.”

Taking a measured step closer to her while still keeping a respectful distance, Cullen dipped his head in an effort to catch her eye. “You will find no death at the top of those stairs, Miss Evie.” As he spoke his quiet assurance her frightened gaze lifted to meet his for a second time that evening. And for the second time, a pink warmth touched her cheeks before she lowered her widened eyes to the deck.

“If you would like,” Cullen started, only pausing to exhale a resigned sigh. He could only hope he wasn't about to regret this offer. “I will go up first and you can follow when you are ready.”

Once she had very meekly agreed to his proposal, Cullen began to climb the stairs. He kept his steps even and steady despite the tension in his large frame. Turning his back on an armed stranger was not something he did lightly. It mattered little that this stranger was a quivering girl who did not know how to hold a dagger, bringing her ability to wield is effectively into question, one wrong move on his part, or right move on hers, and his life would be brought to an end.

Finally reaching the quarterdeck safely, Cullen greeted Cassandra, who was at the helm, with a quick tip of his chin. She returned the gesture but her furrowed brow and pursed lips betrayed her suspicion. Even from his distance, standing with his back now guarded against the railing, and through the dim light of the lanterns he would feel the weight of her questioning stare.

“Where is your guest?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Cullen tilted his head toward the stairs. “She's–” Before he could explain, the muted clap of small feet on wooden boards cut him off. Miss Evie appeared a second later, her loose scarlet tresses fluttering in the light breeze and Cullen's dagger still held tightly against her bosom.

“You armed her.” Cassandra deadpanned. Miss Evie dropped her gaze to her skirts, bringing her face far too close to the tip of the blade once more, and causing Cassandra to grunt in annoyance. “Poorly, at that.”

Shooting his quartermaster a warning glare, Cullen turned to Miss Evie. “Shall we?”

They walked toward the stern of the quarterdeck side by side, keeping a respectful distance between themselves. Cullen clasped his hands behind his back, keeping his gait as nonthreatening as he could, while still minding the blade clenched in Miss Evie's hands.

The trip to the end of the quarterdeck was quick; Miss Evie nearly jogging to keep in step with Cullen’s long, eager strides. They stopped just short of the tall flagpole anchored to the stern, Cullen looking up toward the overlarge flag flapping in the wind. He gazed proudly at the outline of the flaming eye of Andraste being pierced with the blade of mercy standing out in a greying white against the faded black of the worn canvas.

“Satisfied?” Cullen asked after a moment, peering down at Miss Evie. The tension she had been carrying in her slight shoulders had relaxed marginally and the white-knuckle grip with which she had been holding the dagger had eased. Slowly, her arms moved to her sides the dagger dangling loosely in her fingers. A second ticked by. Then another, and another. Finally, she nodded her head, her vehement gaze remaining locked on the flag.

“Now then, I need to ask you some questions.”

“Questions...?” She stared up at him with wide-eyed confusion now. “I don't...”

“You've had a trying day, I am aware, but it's imperative that you tell me everything you saw. Everything they said. Any information you have.” Cullen demanded, watching her expectantly.

Every other survivor the Revenge crew had picked up in the past had held small bits of information, not enough to make significant difference but it kept them in the shadow of the beast. And every one of them had been ready with the particulars the moment Cullen asked. However, from the blank expression on her face he could see now getting the information from Miss Evie would take some coaxing. Perhaps a lot of it.

“Did they speak to you?” He offered as a starting point, but she only stared at him, or rather, it would be more accurate to say she stared through him. “Can you tell me what they looked like?” There was no possible way she didn't see them. But again, she remained silent. “Surely they spoke to each other,” Cullen nearly hollered, tossing his head back in exasperation. “Did they say where they were going? Where they had just come from? Anything?”

He had been so close. He should have forgotten the Seahorse and pursued its attacker. Now the galleon was gone and the only survivor could very well be useless in his efforts to find it again.

He should have never stopped.

The clattering of the metal on wood had Cullen whipping his head toward Miss Evie. The dagger laid uselessly at her feet and the dainty hand that once held it was resting over the right side of her face which was twisted into a grimace. Her left hand reached out toward the railing, searching blindly for purchase. Cullen’s questions and frustration were forgotten entirely as he rushed to catch her, snaking an arm around her waist to steady her swaying.

“What are you doing? Let- let go of me.” Even as Miss Evie whimpered her weak order, her extended arm wrapped around Cullen’s back to grip his opposite shoulder. “Please, I- I’m fine.”

“You’ve taken a hard blow to your head.” Cullen stated plainly. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. You have my deepest apologies.”

“I’m quite alright, I assure you. I only need a moment to collect myself.” She insisted in a hushed voice while attempting to twist out of his embrace.

Cullen tightened his gentle hold on Miss Evie’s waist, just enough to keep her from freeing herself only to undoubtedly tumble to the deck and injure herself further. “You need to rest.” He urged gently. The very thought of any more harm coming to this young woman after all she had already endured filled Cullen was a sense of dread he had not felt in years.

Without a second thought for what he was doing, Cullen lifted his free hand and brushed an arrant lock of hair away from Miss Evie’s face, caressing the back of her soft hand with the calloused tips of his fingers. As he tucked the silken strands behind her ear, he realised what he was doing. The tremble in Miss Evie’s slight frame and the look of what he assumed was fear that flashed in her pain-filled eyes forced the smitten captain to pull his hand away and clear his throat.

“We can continue this conversation in the morrow.” Cullen declared tightly. “Until then, you may have use of my cabin. No one will bother you there, I assure you.”

Miss Evie nodded slowly and began to push away from Cullen once more. “Thank you…” She murmured, her voice laced with uncertainty. “I will retire at once. If you’ll excuse me.”

Cullen began to loosen his tight hold on the demure young woman in his arms but stopped only a second later. As soon as her weight was not being hold by his strong arm, Miss Evie’s balance gave way and she began to sway once more. The journey to from the quarterdeck to his cabin may be a short one but on shaky legs with unfocused vision and a throbbing head it would be quite dangerous. Especially for a woman who, Cullen assumed, had little experience at sea. Not to mention the fact that it was night and she did not know the Revenge in the least. A ship’s deck can be precarious under the best circumstances and these were the worst.

Without warning, Cullen slipped his free arm under Miss Evie’s knees and quite literally swept her off her feet. He struggled to maintain his own balance for just a moment when she began to squirm awkwardly in his grip, asking repeatedly what he was doing as well as begging him to put her down before he drop her.

“I will not drop you, Miss Evie.” Cullen promised her with a slight chuckle. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately while still shifting and fidgeting uncomfortably. When she finally settled enough for him to catch his balance, Cullen stooped down to snatch the discarded dagger from the deck with the hand under Miss Evie’s knees then stood once more.

As Cullen carried Miss Evie across the quarterdeck he stole a glance down at her face. She peered up him from under her lashes, emerald eyes filled with an uneasiness that made his chest tighten and a lump form in his throat. Gently tracing the flawless stitching on the back of her floral silk dress with his thumb, Cullen offered her a reassuring smile.

“You needn’t look so worried, Miss Evie. I would never drop you. I promise you, you’re safe in my arms.”


	6. Chapter VI

Mornings at sea were always difficult. Even on land it had been a challenge for Evie's governess to coax the young lady from the comfort of her bed. But at sea, with the gentle rocking of the ship and no nagging reminder of her daily lessons, it was nearly impossible for Evie to find the strength to rise on her own. It mattered little that her bed on the Seahorse was cramped or that the mattress was lumpy and smelled of stale mold, the serene swaying of the ship and pure scent of the Caribbean Sea were far too soothing to resist.

Evie pressed further into the nest of blankets, trying to recapture the sanctity of dreams as the first threads of wakefulness tugged at her mind. It could not be much past dawn. There were no heavy steps or bustling commotion on the deck above to signal the crew's day beginning. Nor had anyone knocked to inform her of breakfast in the mess. Her father had not even come by to scold her for her sloth.

As though her thoughts could be made real, a light tapping on her door pulled a soft groan from Evie. The sound itself seemed further away than she was used to but she spared little thought for that, chalking it up to the pounding headache she was currently battling. Another distant knock had Evie wrestling to turn her back to the door without rolling out of her small bed. But the space around her did not seem as compact as she recalled. Sliding her hand across the mattress toward where she knew the bulkhead should be she only found sheets.

All at once the events of the day before flooded her mind, threatening to drown her under the images of carnage and sounds of indifferent laughter. There was no clear imagine to cling to, there wasn't one she wanted to take hold of. Evie squeezed her eyes tightly as she sprang up in bed. She pressed the heels of palms into her eyes, trying desperately to push the vision of bloodied and butchered bodies away to no avail.

It didn't seem real. That such malicious people could actually exist and perform the heinous acts she had witnessed was not something Evie wanted to accept. But her mind could never be so cruel as to conjure such vile nightmares. Every deplorable act and snarled word that was saturating her mind had truly happened. This was her reality now. She had lived while so many died. Why she had been spared was beyond her comprehension. Her life was not worth more than those who had been slaughtered. Why should she continue to breathe when so many now laid dead?

Her chest burned with every gasping breath she took, prompting her to bring her trembling hands from her eyes to her breast. Upon finding that she was still wearing her dress and corset the lifeless, black eyes that stared into her soul with disdain turned to a brilliant amber. Her breathing began to slow but remained laboured and heat began to spread through her trembling muscles, the sense of hopelessness and dread she had felt only a moment before was replaced with a calming warmth.

Glancing around the empty cabin, a blush crept into Evie's cheeks, spreading over her nose and down her neck as she recalled the night before. She could still feel the ghost of Captain Rutherford’s well-formed arms cradling her as he laid her gently upon his bed. She hadn't been entirely sure what she had wanted him to do or why she had even entertained the idea of asking him to lay beside her but she did know that a request such as that would have been unseemly and wholly unladylike. And that if he hadn't left only a moment after placing her upon the sheets she would have begged the scoundrel to take her willing body in his capable arms and never let her go.

Evie whipped her head around causing pain to flare from the back of her head and tip the cabin on its axis when another, louder rapping on the door was heard. The irrational fantasy of being swept up in the kind-eyed pirate captain's embrace gave way to reality. She was alone on the ship belonging to one of the most fearsome pirates known to the Caribbean. He had seemed a good man, not at all what she would have expected from the stories told of him; he even knew the Chant. But if there was one thing Evie had learned in the past two months it was that expectations were hardly ever met. She could not assume she would be safe. Any man with a sharp ear and keen memory could learn the word of the Maker but that did not mean he followed the tenets of the Chantry.

Unsure of how she could possibly escape and bereft of her weapon from the night before, Evie did the only thing she could think. The room continued to spin and her pulse pounded harshly behind her eyes as she laid back down and rolled away from the interior of the room. The door creaked open with the slow squeal of weathered hinges announcing the entrance of whomever was at the door.

Adrenaline set her nerves ablaze, her hands went numb and her dizziness worsened as blood flooded the coiled muscles of her trembling legs. Every fibre of her being told her to run but a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she had nowhere to run to. She was trapped on a ship in the middle of the sea, with no means of finding her way home to London. And even if, by divine intervention, she could make it home she would have no place to go once there. The only family she had was her father. And now she had no one.

Just then a clear and concise voice rang out, reminding Evie that she may be alone philosophically but she was certainly not physically. “Well, I guess she's still asleep.” The distinct femininity of the voice surprised Evie for a moment. She recalled the woman on deck the night before but her tone had been pinched and indifferent when speaking. Whomever this new woman was spoke with an almost carefree cheerfulness that could be heard in just a few words.

“I'll just leave this here and be on my way shortly.” A soft sigh of relief slipped from between Evie's anxiously paled lips and her tensed muscles loosened upon her guest's declaration.

After a few moments of listening to quiet shuffling and the other miscellaneous noises at her back, the door was shut and Evie was alone again. Cautiously, she lifted her head from the pillow and peeked over her shoulder. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she slipped from the bed.

With two bare feet planted firmly on the worn rug, Evie allowed her gaze to wander surreptitiously around the cabin. To her right the grand windows behind a cluttered desk had their thick oak shutters pulled open, lighting the cabin with the early afternoon sunshine. To the left of the desk sat a rack of some sort. It took Evie several moments of staring for her to finally realise what exactly she was looking at: a weapon rack. She had only ever seen such furnishings on a trip to the museum and they had always been adorned with all manner of armaments. This rack was empty.

“You're lucky you didn't lose any fingers to that dagger. Best to leave thoughts of something larger far from your mind.” Evie reminded herself softly.

Turning her sight to the dining table a mere foot in front of her, Evie found a tray of food. Or what could be food. A bowl of greyish mush that she supposed was porridge sat next to small tin cup and dented tin pitcher on a chipped wooden tray. Shuffling forward, she grimaced at the offered meal. If someone were to ask her later why she snubbed the food despite the emptiness of her stomach, she would tell them she feared a dastardly plan to poison her by her pirate hosts. In truth, starvation seemed preferable to permitting the thick lumpy goo she was looking at now anywhere near her lips.

As Evie reached for the pitcher of somewhat clear water, she noticed a piece of neatly folded parchment tucked under the arrangement. The lettering on the page was precise, if somewhat cramped but clearly written by an educated hand.

Come to the deck at your earliest convenience.

There was no signature or mark of any kind to denote from whom the note had been written but that didn't stop the butterflies resting in Evie's stomach from taking flight. Once more her brief encounter with Captain Rutherford from the night before played in her mind. All logic dictated that she should stay where she was, force the pirate to come and face her alone rather than venturing out to be surrounded by the scourges of the Caribbean. But the memory of his kind eyes and concern-filled voice had Evie exchanging her wrinkled dress for one from the chest at the end of bed and carefully pulling her long, scarlet hair into a somewhat neat braid resting over her right shoulder. With one last deep breath to gather what she could of her nerves, she moved to the door of the cabin and stepped out into a strangely familiar world.

The scene on the main deck of the Revenge was not at all what Evie was expecting. Savagery, laziness, and disorderly conduct had been what she had assumed she would find on an unkempt and wholly unsafe deck. Yet, men and women worked at their posts in an orderly fashion and the deck itself looked as safe to walk as any other; if she didn't know any better she would think she was aboard yet another merchant vessel. She stood nervously in front of the door to the captain's cabin, smoothing her shaking hands over the delicate lavender silk of her dress, and waited for her feet to respond to her command forward.

However, before she could move out of the shadows she had thought she was hiding in, she was joined by a dwarven woman with a smile that shone brighter than the sun filtering through the patchwork sails.

“You're finally up!” She beamed in a barely perceivable Irish accent. “It's been near an hour since I dropped off your breakfast. I told the captain you were awake but he was starting to doubt me. I haven't a doubt that he was gonna be sending me back in to make sure you hadn't succumb to that knock to your head.”

Evie gaped at the impossibly cheerful pirate, utterly flabbergasted by woman's sunny disposition. She stood in a dazed silence even after her greeter had ended her stream of words, unsure of how to respond or where to even start.

“Speaking of which,” The dwarven pirate reached out and took hold of Evie's dainty wrist. Gently but very instantly she pulled Evie forward so that she was bent at her waist and they could meet eye to eye. “How's your head feeling? And the rest of you. You don't look like you're on death's doorstep any longer. That's usually a good thing.”

“Well, I–“ Evie's head continued to throb but the spinning had stopped. And the ache that was there was bearable. In truth, her crushed and bruised ribs were causing her more pain than her battered head. After unwisely sleeping in her corset she was truly regretting not forgoing it now. “I'm feeling much better. Thank you for your concern.”

The pirate lass offered Evie a cheerful smile as she released her wrist, allowing Evie to straighten. “If I may ask... What– what is your name, miss?” Evie asked shyly once she had corrected her posture.

The pirate replied with a jubilant laugh, nothing like the sinister chuckles of the men that boarded the Seahorse. This laugh was one that could easily be shared between friends. “Of course you can ask! I'm Dagna. Surgeon on good days, gunner on the not-so-good ones.” She laughed before her expression turned somewhat serious. “Well, I suppose the days I'm surgeon aren't so good either. Means someone's hurt. But that's better than being shot at, I guess.”

Despite herself, the ghost of a grin tugged at Evie's lips as she listened to Dagna. For just a moment, she could forget where she was, by whom she was surrounded, and how she had gotten there. Despite the tattered cotton skirt she wore, the soiled black blouse, and heavy hatchet hanging from her belt Dagna could be a woman Evie met in the market back home. They could be nothing more than two high society ladies exchanging pleasantries beside the merchant stands. And speaking of gunfire apparently.

“So, do you prefer Miss Evie or is there something else you'd want us to call you?” Dagna asked.

Evie opened and shut her mouth several times, attempting to find her voice now trapped behind the sudden lump in her throat. The first time someone called her by that improper monicker she had been shocked. Shocked by how much she enjoyed hearing her name fall from such sinfully seductive lips. She knew she should correct Dagna, it was the proper thing to do. But if Evie corrected her that could cause the lips she was thinking of to never utter the name again.

“Miss Evie will be fine. Thank you kindly.” Evie assured Dagna with a genial curtsy.

“Miss Evie!” Evie turned quickly from Dagna to face the source of such an enticing sound. She watched enraptured as Captain Rutherford descended the steps from the quarterdeck above with all the grace and dignity of a true gentleman to join herself and Dagna in the shaded overhang. He stood closer than would be proper if they were in polite society, towering over Evie with his large and terribly tempting muscular frame. He carried upon his tantalizingly scared lips a smile that turned her knees to the consistency of the gruel she left untouched within in cabin. “You've risen. I am... I am quite relieved to see that you are well.”

Evie gazed up at the fearsome pirate captain from under her thick lashes. He smiled at her, an almost bashful quirk of his lips while his amber tinted gaze sparkled in such a way that she couldn't stop herself from simpering in return.

After a lingering moment, Captain Rutherford directed his gaze toward Dagna, allowing Evie to catch the breath she hadn't even known she was holding. Wringing her trembling hands, she began to examine his attire. Unlike the night before, his golden blonde curls were tied back into a somewhat neat ponytail at his nape, the shorter pieces by his temples falling haphazardly around his roughly stubbled jaw. Over what looked like the same shirt he wore when they first met, he now wore an aged burgundy longcoat that was a tad too tight in the shoulders for his impressive build. But what she found of most interest was his trim waist. Peeking out from under the thick wool of his longcoat was the face of a ferocious lion. It stared at her with wild golden eyes while its jaw hung open to reveal tiny, razor-like teeth that held the nicked and scratched guard of the cutlass’ pommel within it.

As the pirate captain began to speak again, Evie brought her hands up to idly play with the end of her braid. His accent was English, northern to be exact. It brought forth memories of walking the pier back home, listening to the dockhands and sailors spin seemingly implausible tales of the life at sea. A simple time in her life. A harmless time when a ruffian was barely given the chance to look at her sideways before her escort was guiding her down a safer path. When her world was calm, her path in life was clear, and she knew nothing could ever harm her. She never thought she'd experience that feeling again.

The brush of calloused fingertips against her jaw brought Evie’s focus up to Captain Rutherford’s face. For just a moment, she lost herself in his touch, the juxtaposition between his work roughened skin and the way he was caressing her cheek oh so gently. But as she began to lean into the palm of his hand her eyes fell shut and painted on the back of her closed lids was a scene that reminded her why he was able to touch her so freely in the first place. Her nose began to burn and her chest ached as guilt washed over her. While forcing her eyes to open, Evie stumbled backwards on weakened knees in an attempt to evade the horrifying visions.

“Miss Evie, I apologize. I had thought–” Evie peeked up at Captain Rutherford from where she was now pressed to the aged wood and dirty glass that made up the door to his cabin. For the briefest of moments, he looked utterly dismayed before he squared his jaw and hardened his soft amber eyes. “Well, it matters not what I thought. The important thing now is that you are awake. I do hope you will be able to tell me what I need to know.”

Evie continued to gaze at the stoic captain. The soft, comforting expression he had worn only a moment before had been replaced with a determined scowl. He was no longer looking at her either, but staring over the top of her windblown scarlet hair. She wanted to apologize, to explain that it hadn’t been his touch she was fleeing from but the guilt she felt for wanting it. For being spared by the monsters that took so many lives. For being relieved that, out of everyone aboard the Seahorse, she had been the lucky soul to survive. But instead of explaining herself, she simply stared at him, hoping against hope he could somehow read her thoughts.

“The attack on your ship.” Captain Rutherford sighed after a moment, clearly unable to understand the true meaning behind Evie’s silence. “What happened? What do you remember? The details are of the utmost import to me.”

For the split second, the events from the day before played in her mind but Evie quickly pushed them away. She could not relive those horrors again. There was no possible way that anything that happened on that day would be of use to anyone. Vile pirates attacked. Good men died. Her father died. She lived. And by the mercy of the Maker, she was saved by the most unlikely of men and women. That was all there was to know. That was all she could allow herself to think of. The exact details were not something she could face. Not now. Now ever.

But something told her that, no matter how noble he may seem, how kind his eyes were, the pirate captain standing before her would not take no for an answer. Not on this. It had been the reason for his rescuing her, she had no doubt. It could very well be the motivation behind his compassionate demeanour. There was no telling what would happen if she were to tell him the truth.

“I don't– I'm sorry... I can't recall anything.” Lying had never been something that came easy to Evie. Fibbing as a young child always resulted in her father sending her to the birch tree in the backyard for a sturdy rod. After her third time lying about who had pilfered cookies from the pantry, she vowed to never lie again. Now here she was, lying to a man who could and likely would do far worse than cane her bottom if he were to ever find out.

But her possible fate if her deception were to be discovered was of no consequence. She needed to know what was to become of her in this moment. She was of no use to him and from what she had been told of pirates, they do not keep things unless it benefits themselves. “What… what is to become of me now?”

“Now?” His expression was near unreadable as he stepped toward her. The only hint of his thoughts was the slight quirk of his lips that pulled all of Evie’s attention to the jagged scar there. Her entire body began to tremble with the sudden surge of adrenaline and the muscles in her legs tensed, preparing her to flee from the advancing pirate captain. Or perhaps to leap into his well-formed arms.

“Now, Miss Evie, I’d like you to take this.” For lingering moment, Captain Rutherford’s words and their meaning were lost on her, as enthralled with the curve of his lips as she was. It wasn’t until he ducked his head lower to catch her widened emerald eyes with his sparkling ambers that she realised he had spoken. And when directed his gaze lower in a meaningful fashion Evie followed it.

“I don’t– I don’t understand…” She cocked her head to the side as she stared down at the item being offered to her. She recognized it but she could not find its place in her frazzled mind and jumbled memories right away.

“You’re frightened.” Captain Rutherford stated. When Evie began to shake her head, trying to deny the truth, he breathed an amicable chuckle. “You are. There’s no use in denying it.” He paused then, long enough for Evie to realise she was still trembling. Only now she couldn’t be sure if it was fear or fascination of the pirate that was less than a step away from having her pinned to his cabin door.

“You were brave when you were holding this. Perhaps it will help you be brave again.” It was with that kind explanation that Evie realised what was being offered to her. Without any resistance, Evie allowed Captain Rutherford to place the hilt of his offered dagger in her palm and wrap his hand around hers. It felt the same as it had the night before while she was clinging to it as though it was her only chance at life. Only now the safety she felt didn’t come from the smooth floral etching against her palm but the warmth of the hand enveloping hers.

“You should go rest now.” Captain Rutherford murmured before reaching behind her with his free hand and opening the door to his cabin. Leaning forward into his embrace to keep from falling backward, Evie lifted her gaze from their joined hands. She stared into the pirate’s eyes, searching the amber depths for an explanation.

Resting his hand on her hip, Captain Rutherford gently steered Evie back into his cabin. She allowed him to guide her movements until her bottom connected with the edge of his dining table. “You’ve had a trying journey to get here. And it’s not over yet.” He explained in a husky whisper, sending a jolt down Evie’s spine.

Her eyes flicked from his to the bed only a few steps away from where they stood. The memory of the night before, of her desire to have him stay with her, to share his bed, leapt to the forefront of her mind. A wave of heat washed over her to settle between her thighs. In an instant, her cheeks reddened once more and her uncontrollable quivering increased. She knew the urges she felt were improper, that if she were to act on them she would have no hope of a future with a proper gentleman. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. Slowly, Evie began to lift her free hand to take hold of his lapel, ready to ask him to stay, beg him, if need be. But before she could, he released his hold on her and stepped away.

“The journey to Kingston will take another two weeks in the least. You may have use of my cabin until then. I will make other sleep arrangements for myself.” The alluring cadence that his voice held only a moment before had vanished to be replaced by a terse tone.

The shift in tone was so sudden that the information he had just imparted on her was almost lost. It wasn’t until he began turning from her to leave, that his words connected in her mind. He was taking her to her original destination. In a fortnight she would be returned to civilization and safety, she would be able to put this whole tragedy behind her. And Captain Rutherford would be out of her life forever. She knew she should be relieved but instead she felt almost disappointed.

“Wait, please.” Evie called as Captain Rutherford reached the threshold. He turned to face her, waiting patiently for her to continued. But rather than saying what she wanted, she could only offer him the smallest of smiles and an expression of gratitude and respect.

“Thank you, Captain Rutherford. For everything.”


	7. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trust me, i'm more shocked than anyone that this happened. thank you to anyone that's still here and sorry to everyone who got the unwanted notification that this updated.

Two weeks sailed by on calm waters with the aid of a strong eastern wind. Evie had spent most of her time on the Templar’s Revenge hidden away within the safety of the captain’s cabin. Uncertainty had kept her confined to the cabin for her first days aboard the pirate ship. Thankfully, she was never without company long enough for loneliness to set back in. Dagna was never too busy to stay for a chat after bringing Evie a meal. And Sera always needed a place a to hide from her quartermaster’s all-seeing gaze. However, despite the crew’s accommodating attitude toward her she had not be able to bring herself to leave the isolation of the cabin until the thirteenth day of the journey.

She stood on the deck now, watching the sunlight glimmer atop the rolling waves and listening to Dagna’s easy banter with the ship’s elven rigger, Sera. She had become easy friends with the two women after realizing their insults and teasing were all in good-natured and simply their way of showing affection. Why, she wasn’t certain she had heard an exchange between the two that didn’t involve at least one questionable remark about the other’s character. Being included in their repertoire had become a comfort to the nervous noblewoman. Though, she dare not offer up her own rebukes for it would be most unladylike of her to do so.

“Are you excited about our arrival in Kingston, Miss Evie?” Evie turned from the railing to offer her full attention to Dagna before nodding in answer to her question. “You’re not going to miss anything about your time with us?” Dagna sounded terribly forlorn about the possibility.

Before Evie had a chance to reply Sera interjected. “‘Course she ain’t gonna miss us. She’ll be back in ‘proper society’ with the other hoity-toities.”

“Oh, but I will miss you!” Evie exclaimed.

“You will?” Sera asked incredulously while ignoring Dagna’s I-told-you-so grin. “Why?”

Folding her hands together in front of her, Evie lowered her gaze to the deck boards in search of a suitable explanation. She thought to lie at first - Sera had advised her that lying was useful and necessary at times a few days past - but it still seemed quite impossible for her. But she couldn’t possibly tell them the truth either. Confessing they were the first real friends she had ever made in her life would result in a new volley of, while good-natured, quite embarrassing insults.

She decided in the end a half-truth would be sufficient. “You’ve all treated me so kindly since my arrival here. It will be strange to be away from you.” She felt her face heat when she lifted her gaze long enough to take in Sera and Dagna’s matching grins. “I’ve become quite fond of you all.” She finished with a dainty shrug.

“All of us?” Sera questioned with a laugh.

As though they were stage actors waiting for their cue, Captain Rutherford and Quartermaster Pentaghast came storming out from below deck at that exact moment. Without another word spared, Sera and Dagna returned to their duties, leaving Evie alone on deck. The two senior pirates barely paid her any mind as they passed. They were engaged in a heated, and rather boisterous, disagreement.

Although she knew it was quite rude to eavesdrop, Evie could not stop herself from listening in and trying to decipher what had the pair so unsettled. She followed along a few paces behind them, knowing full well they would never notice her. Not since her first few days aboard the Revenge had either of them acknowledged her. She hadn’t counted Quartermaster Pentaghast’s slight as any real loss as the woman seemed quite unhappy with her from the very beginning. But Captain Rutherford… he had been so kind, so charming, so gentle with her in her first few days. She had found great comfort in his presence. She had spent her nights dreaming of him laying by her side, her days wishing he would take her into his arms every time he came to question her. But the moment it had become clear she could not answer his persistent questions, he had vanished. Leaving nothing behind but the dagger he had gifted her on her first day aboard and her unrelenting fantasies.

“Afterwards!” Captain Rutherford suddenly roared. The rage in his voice sent Evie’s hand flying to the dagger resting at her hip. It must seem terribly rude of her to someone who did not understand, she knew that, but the habit could not be broken now. She watched wide-eyed as the formidable pirate captain paced like a caged lion before his quartermaster. “We will make port, drop her off, then and only then will be finish what we set out do it in the first place.”

With her back to Evie, she could not tell what the quartermaster’s reaction to her captain’s fervent command was. But from the way she had crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her posture, she was not pleased. “It will be too late then.” She drawled, sounding entirely uninterested in the discussion.

“You cannot know that for certain.” Captain Rutherford growled through his teeth.

Quartermaster Pentaghast tilted her head to the side. “I can. Just as you can. Was it not you that shared the navigational charts with me?” Her voice began to raise until she was all but shouting. “They will have met with their escort if we delay. If we do not act now then we will lose our chance to intercept them! You are letting your affections for this girl cloud your judgement!”

Evie’s heart leapt into her throat but not before a loud, undignified gasp could escape. The two pirates turned their full attention to her at once. Quartermaster Pentaghast looked disgruntled to see her. Captain Rutherford looked shocked… and perhaps even embarrassed. No, she was imagining it. Men with reputations such as his were never bashful. Surely the ruddy tint to his cheeks was due to the warmth of the day.

“You were not given permission to come to the quarterdeck, Miss Evie.” Quartermaster Pentaghast looked as though she wanted to wring Evie’s neck.

However, before she could advance Captain Rutherford moved to Evie’s side. Without a word, he took hold of her elbow and dragged her back down the steps from which they came. He scowled the whole way back to his cabin, not even sparing her a glance once until they reached the the double doors. He very nearly tore one from its hinges before shoving her inside. “You will stay here until I’ve returned.” He ordered in a low voice that offered little room for argument.

“But I-” The fire burning in Captain Rutherford’s eyes trapped Evie’s words in her throat.

“But what?” He barked.

Evie stumbled backward as if she struck. She tried to remind herself his anger was her own doing, eavesdropping as she was, but it did little to lessen the sting. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she dipped her head in a show of sincere contrition. “I wished to apologize for my subterfuge. It was completely unacceptable of me to act in such a manner. I will accept any punishment you deem fit.” She braced herself for her penance.

In the short few months she had been reunited with her father he had been quite severe in his punishments for her deplorable behaviours. To eat too much during a meal meant she would not eat for the entire next day. To sleep late in the morn meant she would not find rest that night. Reading fanciful novels of fiction saw her beloved tales thrown overboard, by her own hand no less. She could only imagine what kind of recompense she would have to make to a man such as Captain Cullen Rutherford.

It was not anything she could have ever imagined.

His calloused fingertips felt like the softest of feathers on the sensitive skin of her cheek. She could not have stopped herself from leaning into his touch even if she had wished to. With gentle pressure, he directed her gaze up to meet his. His amber eyes were filled with such tenderness that it was very nearly her undoing. He caressed the fullness of her cheek with his thumb for a too-brief moment while offering her a kind smile. “It is I who should apologize, Miss Evie. I should not have become cross with you. When I saw you standing there, after what Cassandra had said…” His cheeks turned rosy once more and he sighed. “Wait here. That is all I ask of you.” He ordered in a gentle whisper. And with that, his touch had disappeared along with the man himself.

Evie sagged against the nearest surface that would support her weight, sighing like a love-sick school girl. If Quartermaster Pentaghast had been correct and the captain’s affections for Evie had clouded his mind then surely her own affections for him had conjured the fiercest summer storm in hers.

It had taken her nearly an hour to recover from her encounter with Captain Rutherford. Her racing heart had spent the time trying to burst from her chest and chase after the pirate. Her mind had turned to mush and her hand trembled any time she touched her cheek where his fingers had settled before. But eventually her senses did return to her and with them her worry.

Focusing past Quartermaster Pentaghast’s remark about Captain Rutherford’s affections, Evie began to wonder about their argument. She would have assumed they were discussing the men that had attacked her, but they had gotten away. What little had been explained to her she had committed to memory: after she had been found, the Revenge had set sail for Kingston immediately, going in the opposite direction from the demons. She had clung to every word any of the crew members were willing to spare about her attackers but they had been tight-lipped about almost everything. They had conceded that finding the demons was of the utmost importance to most of the Revenge’s crew but would not say why. They would not even tell her the name of the ship so she could not use her knowledge of the pirate fables to aid her.

As the hours of confinement dragged on her curiosity turned to concern. If the captain and the quartermaster had not been discussing their most hated enemy then who were they planning to intercept? She paced the length of the cabin for a long while, contemplating the mystery, before finally the doors opened once more.

Dagna came strolling in as cheerful as ever holding a tray of hard tack, a tin cup, and a pitcher of water. Evie’s stomach turned the moment she took in the offered fare. Despite months at sea, she still had trouble stomaching the dismal food that was required for prolonged voyages. However, she wasn’t about to be ungrateful. Forcing a smile she hoped looked sincere, Evie took a seat at the dining table where Dagna had placed the tray.

“It looks…” Her smile faltered for just a moment before she recovered. “Thank you for bringing me an afternoon meal, Dagna.” She poured the water into the cup then broke off a piece of the hard tack, dipping the biscuit into the water to soften it. “Would you care to join me?”

Dagna was shaking her head before Evie had finished asking. “Can’t. Too much work to be done.”

Evie bit her lip to hold in her remark. In the weeks she had been a guest on the Revenge she hadn’t had any trouble convincing Dagna to join her for meals or even just a chat. Dagna only seemed to have work when someone was injured. And the last injury on board had been Evie’s. Her only other job was overseeing and aiding in the maintenance the ship’s swivel guns and cannons. But that seemed to take up none of her time. Evie had honestly, and shamefully, begun to believe Dagna didn’t have any substantial work to do aboard the ship. However, she would never, ever confess to holding such a belief.

“You can’t spare a few moments?” Evie asked hopefully.

“Would if I could. But there’s lots to get done and no time to do it.”

“Why? What’s happening?” Evie called out as Dagna hurried away.

Dagna’s shoulders drooped. She sighed rather loudly before turning back to Evie. “I can’t tell you.” She confessed, a look of utter defeat etched across her features. “Captain’s orders.”

“Are we nearing Kingston?” Evie asked when Dagna tried to leave again. She tried her utmost to keep the disappointment from her voice but knew she had failed miserably. “You see, if we have arrived I would like a chance to say a proper farewell and-”

“We haven’t arrived.” Dagna assured her. “If we do make it there, I’ll make sure you get to say your goodbyes. Promise.” With that, she rushed out of the room before Evie could stop her once more.

Evie stared at the door for a long while, confusion pulling her brows together. If they made it to Kingston? What in the name of the Maker did that mean? They had all been assuring her for from the moment she had awoken aboard the pirate vessel that she would be brought to Kingston. They had made a point of reminding her of this fact daily. She would be brought into port, whether she wished it or not. Something had changed and Maker help her, she was beyond relieved. She was elated.

That is, until she had learned the reason behind the sudden change in plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some feedback would be really super. thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> Chances are I will not be continuing this story any time soon (if ever). As far as I can tell from reader feedback there are about three people that are actually reading it. The amount of time, effort, and hard work that goes into the story is just not worth the heart break I feel when a chapter goes up and less than a handful people show they are interested in it. I apologize to the few people that were reading. I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted.


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